“Perhaps you may wish me away for a short time,” said Harcourt, looking at Tim.

“Not at all, my dear Harcourt, why should I?  There’s nobody here but you and Timothy.”

“Timothy! excellent—­upon my word, I never should have known him.”

“He is going forth on his adventures.”

“And if you please, sir, I will lose no time.  It is now dark, and I know where the gipsy hangs out.”

“Success attend you then; but be careful, Tim.  You had better write to me, instead of calling.”

“I had the same idea; and now I wish you a good evening.”

When Timothy quitted the room, I explained our intentions to Harcourt.  “Yours is a strange adventurous sort of life, Newland; you are constantly plotted against, and plotting in your turn—­mines and counter-mines.  I have an idea that you will turn out some grand personage after all; for if not, why should there be all this trouble about you?”

“The trouble, in the present case, is all about Fleta; who must, by your argument, turn out some grand personage.”

“Well, perhaps she may.  I should like to see that little girl, Newland.”

“That cannot be just now, for reasons you well know; but some other time it will give me great pleasure.”

On the second day after Tim’s departure, I received a letter from him by the twopenny post.  He had made the acquaintance of the gipsy, but had not extracted any information, being as yet afraid to venture any questions.  He further stated that his new companion had no objection to a glass or two, and that he had no doubt but that if he could contrive to make him tipsy, in a few days he would have some important intelligence to communicate.  I was in a state of great mental agitation during this time.  I went to Mr Masterton, and narrated to him all that had passed.  He was surprised and amused, and desired me not to fail to let him have the earliest intelligence of what came to light.  He had not received any answer as yet from his agent in Dublin.

It was not until eight days afterwards that I received further communication from Timothy; and I was in a state of great impatience, combined with anxiety, lest any accident should have happened.  His communication was important.  He was on the most intimate footing with the man, who had proposed that he should assist him to carry off a little girl, who was at a school at Brentford.  They had been consulting how this should be done, and Timothy had proposed forging a letter, desiring her to come up to town, and his carrying it as a livery servant.  The man had also other plans, one of which was to obtain an entrance into the house by making acquaintance with the servants; another, by calling to his aid some of the women of his fraternity to tell fortunes:  nothing was as yet decided, but that he was resolved to obtain possession of the little girl, even if he were obliged to resort to force.  In either case Timothy was engaged to assist.